The Things That Are
by ShatteringDaybreak
Summary: A collection of oneshots for Royai Week 2014. Day Seven: Warmth. It was just his luck, Roy thinks, that the Flame Alchemist would end up stationed in a desert.
1. Stolen

Day One: Stolen

* * *

They subsist on stolen moments. And if Riza sometimes thinks that it's not fair, well, it wouldn't be the first time.

It's not that she doesn't know that this world is not fair—she does, more so than most. But she can't help but wish, in the darkest hours of the darkest nights, that her life had turned out differently. That Amestris wasn't the way it was, that they needn't forfeit so much of themselves for so many (who will not even know their names and sacrifices, when it is done). Granted, it is a rare moment of weakness when she wishes this, but she does it all the same. Perhaps that is what all soldiers do, when they lie awake in the night, plagued with the memories of what they have done.

In the waking hours, when she sees the work they have yet to do, she rolls up her sleeves and immerses herself in the bureaucracy of military life without complaint. If this is what must be done to make the world over in a better image, then so be it. Giving herself and her life so that others may live in a world without war, without bloodshed and corruption and everything they're fighting against, she feels her sacrifice to be worth it. There are worse fates to be had, than to give yourself for others.

And if her commanding officer just so happens to send her a piercing stare when no one else is looking, or brushes the tips of his fingers against hers when she passes him a file, and if those furtive actions are what strengthen the steel she's molded across her bones, then so be it. The secret touches, the private moments they steal in between the long stretches of the day—they are her sanctuary. They remind her of the as-yet-untarnished future that might lay before them, across the rivers of blood and mountains of corpses that stand in her way. There are years of work to accomplish, and the looks he gives to her push her on, especially on the days where it doesn't feel worth it.

Especially on the days that she is reminded of the bloodier (and entirely too possible) alternative their future might hold.

Riza is not an optimistic person by nature. She is a realist, one who assesses what life has seen fit to give them and plans accordingly. Her life may turn out one of two (hundred, thousand) ways, and she is pragmatic about which one may come to pass. After all their hard work, after all the blood, sweat, and tears they put into trying to make this country new, their only thanks might be at the end of a muzzle. She'd known that going in, and so had he.

But that does not mean she doesn't hope for the future in which he succeeds, the future where he can look over his work and smile—and smile at her openly when she's at his side. She doesn't let herself linger on the image for too long, but she keeps it deep within her, where she is the only one who might look upon it. It is her secret hope, that one day they might shake off their self-imposed chains and admire their work without threat of retribution. And in those hot, slow afternoons in the military office when Roy flashes her an electrifying look, she finds herself clutching onto that hope just a little tighter.

To anyone else, she brushes off his near-invisible flirtations with nary a blink of an eye. But Riza is a soldier (and a quiet, introverted person by nature), schooled in the art of concealing her innermost thoughts. Even her coworkers remain oblivious to her reactions, but Roy isn't. He is the only one who knows.

But even if she lingers a little too long with a file, or meets his gaze a little more frequently than the others, well…

They only have these stolen moments (for now)—and so she makes the most of them.


	2. Constant

Day Two: Constant

* * *

Roy doesn't know what he expects when the door to the Hawkeye House swings open, but whatever it is, this isn't it. He knows Berthold Hawkeye has a daughter, but the short girl with chopped blonde hair and ripped trousers is anything than what he expects. Even more startling are the clear brown eyes that pin him with a steady look, and suddenly Roy is much less sure about his new circumstances.

It is only through years of dealing with his adoptive sisters that he knows to avoid making any comments regarding her looks or state of dress. Instead, he smiles at her and inquires after her father. Judging from the mildly surprised look she gives him, it's the most initial respect one of her father's students has ever given her.

Roy finds himself thinking of her later, after he's spoken with his new alchemy teacher. He can't help but be curious, and he wonders if he'll have time to maybe talk to her after his lessons.

But as the days pass, Roy finds himself hardly able to breathe, much less seek out his master's daughter. Not due to the fast pace of his lessons, though those sometimes pass in a blur of numbers and formulas. No, it's the sheer unpredictability of his new teacher that has his head reeling. On some days, Hawkeye-sensei summons him at the break of dawn, and on others, Roy isn't called until after lunch. The lessons themselves vary in content: some are filled with books and hours upon hours of reading; others have him drawing simple circles and transmuting nails to screws and back again; still others leave Roy guessing as to their applicability to alchemy. He enjoys the lessons, yes, but he still feels dizzy every time he's dismissed.

One thing that does not change are the meals. Riza's timing is impeccable: breakfast at seven, lunch at noon, dinner at six. Coincidentally, this is the only time Roy gets to see her, and though they don't exchange conversation (aside from Roy's thanks for the meal, which she acknowledges with a nod), Roy finds these moments to be the highlight of his day. Whatever Hawkeye-sensei may throw at him, he knows when he'll eat, and that is an unexpected (and very welcome) constant his new lifestyle.

Until one day, it isn't.

Roy clatters upstairs after a particularly frustrating lesson on organic chemistry, only to find an empty table. Frowning, he peers into the kitchen, but it too is dark and empty. Riza is nowhere to be found, and as it's already five past, Roy starts to worry.

He wanders upstairs, cautiously peeking into different doorways. He doesn't want to be accused of sneaking, but he does want to find her (not only for his sake—she needs to eat too). Most of the rooms look dusty and unoccupied, but there is one tucked into the corner of the second floor that looks lived in.

The door creaks a little when he pokes it open, and he winces. There is no indignant cry of invasion of privacy, though, so Roy pushes it open a little farther.

It is small but clean, with white walls and pale green furniture. A flowered quilt is folded on the end of the bed, and a small book rests on the night table. It is empty, and though Roy is curious about the room's owner, he knows better than to push his luck by staying. So he turns away and returns to the first floor, still stumped about where his teacher's daughter could be.

He remembers the mud stains he sometimes sees on the knees of her trousers and doubles back to the back door of the house. The screen door slams against the frame as he hops off the brick steps leading outside.

It's a hot spring afternoon, something Roy had sorely missed down in the candlelit shadows of the alchemy laboratory. Bees drone through the air, fat bodies laden with fluffy yellow pollen. The trees bordering the house are starting to bloom, pale pink buds peeking out between vibrant green leaves. The only thing out of place if the steady _thwack_-_ping_ of metal coming from the back of the estate.

Roy frowns, shoving his hands in his pockets as walks toward the sound. He rounds a large weeping willow and sees Riza standing with her back to him, dressed in a boy's shirt and rolled-up trousers. Her feet are bare, her blonde hair sticking up in a sweaty mess. She is holding something in front of her, one hand pulled back to her shoulder. Her fingers open up, and there is a ringing _thwack-ping! _

Roy takes a few steps to the side and sees the thing she is holding is a slingshot, and the sounds are ball-bearings hitting metal cans. It's target practice.

Roy almost feels like laughing at the sight—not because he thinks it's ridiculous, but because he can't imagine her doing anything else. He must make some sort of noise, though, since Riza stiffens and turns. Her eyes widen, and her hands twitch as though to hide the slingshot.

"You're a good shot," Roy says, gesturing to the row of cans she's knocked over.

She nods, then blushes at her own unintended praise. "I practice a lot," she says, trying to recover some sort of modesty.

"I figured," he says, smiling. "Is this what you do before lunch?"

She gasps suddenly. "Lunch! I knew I was forgetting something! You'll be wanting lunch now."

He waves a hand. "Don't worry about it," he reassures, because he doesn't like that frightened look on her face. "I was just curious where you were."

The worry is gone, only to be replaced with something else he can't quite read. "Well, I'm here," she says.

"Yes, you are," Roy says, and feels stupid because now there's an awkward silence between them, and he can't help but feel like it's his fault. So he tries to remedy it. He looks at her slingshot and before he can stop himself, asks, "Teach me to use that?"

She is surprised by his request, and she's not the only one. Roy can't quite believe he's asked this of her and is about to backtrack to save whatever semblance of dignity he can, when she smiles. And it's not like the polite smiles she's given him over the kitchen table. This is her real smile, and Roy is a little dazzled.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I can teach you."

Lunch is a little late that day, but neither of them cares.

Years will pass, and Roy's life will never cease its turmoil. If anything, it becomes more chaotic, but she is there through it all. When everything can change in the snap of a finger (when everything _does_ change at the snap of a finger, and it haunts his dreams at night), she is the rock he has come to rely upon. It is a dangerous path they tread, but she is always there, uniform pristine and files prioritized neatly in her arms. And though he may cringe at the sight of the ever-present paperwork, he knows he is lucky to have her.

He always has been.


	3. AU - Grifter

Day Three: AU/Crossover

(Grifter AU)

* * *

The Aerugonian Job

* * *

"Roy? We've got trouble." Fuery's voice crackled through the earwig in his ear, and though he was trying hard to keep calm, there was an undercurrent of panic in the technician's voice.

"Kain? What's wrong?" Roy asked quietly, raising his champagne glass to hide the movement of his mouth.

"I didn't know they were going to be here, I'm sorry, I just found their frequency over the radio and hacked it, I didn't see it before—" Panic started to win as Fuery babbled on, and Roy ground his teeth impatiently. He'd forgotten how unsatisfying it was to be on the end of an earwig, unable to send a simple glance or a look to calm the young computer whiz down.

"Calm down, Kain." A smooth voice cut across the chatter, effectively silencing the channel. "Take a breath, and tell us what you've got."

Riza was always good in a crisis, Roy thought. Though he hoped this didn't count as one.

It did, apparently. "The Elrics are here," Fuery finally managed to say. "Both of them. And they know we are too."

Colorful expletives rattled around inside Roy's skull, but he was careful not to let any of them slip. Instead, he exhaled forcefully though his nose and asked, "Any idea where they are exactly? Or what their game plan is?"

"I'm working on it." And from the distracted sound of Fuery's voice, he was. "But I know they're in the building somewhere, so keep an eye out."

"Hawkeye?"

"On it, sir," she answered crisply. He caught sight of her near the edge of the ballroom, clad in a high-collared navy dress and holding a clutch that contained far more than an average woman's. Her eyes darted from corner to corner, but she was careful to remain inconspicuous in her scrutiny.

"Should we call it off, boss?" Havoc asked him. Roy saw him on the right side of the room, fiddling with a cufflink and keeping tabs on their mark.

"While we have never been caught, statistically, the odds of succeeding against the Elric brothers are not in our favor." Falman's unflappable voice was steady as always, even when reciting pessimistic figures. Roy could picture him seated at command headquarters, combing the hacked security feeds for a glimpse of the two agents.

"It's your call, chief," Breda said. Roy wasn't sure exactly where he was, only that he was somewhere in the bowels of the building, securing an escape route should they need it. He sounded unconcerned, though there was a slight lilt of worry in his tone.

And as Roy listened to the voices of his team, he wondered (not for the first time) how on earth he'd gotten there.

(Not in that particular ballroom, of course—he was clear enough on that. He was thinking more in the existential sense.)

It'd just been him in the beginning. Well, him and Riza. They'd grown up together, under the tutelage of the master grifter, Berthold Hawkeye. After he'd died, Roy and Riza had stuck out on their own, running cons and pulling the occasional heist or two. Over the years, they'd assembled a motley crew of thieves and crooks, until they numbered six. And as their team expanded, so did their jobs. Now, they were scamming one of the country's wealthiest and most respected businessmen, and the Elric brothers were about to send it all crashing down at their feet.

Roy sighed. "Can't pull out now. Promised Maes I'd get those diamonds to him tonight."

"He can wait a day, boss," Havoc said with exasperation. "I'm sure he'd care more about you staying out of jail."

"If we pull out now, we might not get another chance," Riza said mildly. "The Elrics will probably warn King, and then it'll be the end of it. We either go now, or we find another job."

Roy swirled the champagne glass in his hand, the casual gesture at odds with the anxiety brewing in his stomach. "No, we don't back out. We're almost there and I won't let some two-bit government agents scare us away."

"Yessir," a chorus of voices chimed.

"Havoc, chat up King's wife and draw her away, will you?"

"Gimme five minutes."

"You've got three."

There was some grumbling on the other end of the com, but Havoc ambled his way to Mrs. King with a sunny smile on his face, and Roy knew it would be done. That was Havoc's specialty, after all. Put him in a roomful of complete strangers and he'd have them all eating out of the palm of his hand in less than ten minutes.

"Falman, I want eyes on them, now."

"On it," came the crisp reply.

"Whaddaya want me to do, boss?" Breda asked gruffly.

"Keep on that escape route," Roy ordered. "We might need it, and soon. And let me know if anything comes up."

"Yessir."

Roy rubbed his temples as the com quieted. The Elric brothers were just what he didn't need right now, but that couldn't be helped. Wishing for things you didn't have never did anyone any good, so Roy straightened up and said, "Riza, to me."

"Already here, sir," she said, and her voice was not in his ear but by his side. It was only years of practice that kept Roy from jumping out of his skin.

"Don't do that to me, Hawkeye," he grumbled. "My nerves don't need the stress."

Riza scoffed. "Your nerves are fine, and don't tell me some cock-and-bull story about your worry over the Elrics. You've always loved a challenge, and tonight is no different."

Roy wanted to deny her accusation, but Riza had known him too long, and she might have had some semblance of a point. And from the look on her face, she knew it.

Instead of responding, he changed the subject. "Have you seen them yet?"

She inclined her head to the far corner of the ballroom. "At your one o'clock."

Two heads of golden hair were bent together, whispered and casting the occasional glance to the crowd. Roy scowled at them. At almost the same time, the two agents stiffened and turned his way, and Roy felt a frisson of alarm race up his spine. A rookie might have jerked out of sight, but Roy was no rookie, and neither was the woman at his side.

He looked at her, his movements slow and casual. "They're coming, aren't they?"

"Yes," she answered simply.

"Intent?"

"I don't see handcuffs, but they don't exactly look friendly," she said in a deadpan. "Try to be on your best behavior."

"Aren't I always?"

Riza was cut off mid-scoff by a hand tapping Roy's shoulder. Flashing him a warning look, she turned and slipped away, leaving him to talk with a very unhappy-looking Edward Elric. He watched her go, noting the way her hand tapped his five times.

_Five minutes._

"Mustang," the agent before him said, the word bitten off with clenched teeth.

"Elric," he said, nodding in greeting. "What an unexpected surprise."

"And yet, I'm not surprised at all to find you here," Elric replied, gold eyes sparking with scorn. "What is it this time? Art? Jewels? Life savings?"

"You make it sound like I kick puppies and drown infants for a living," Roy scoffed, setting his champagne glass down on a passing tray. "I've never hurt anyone, you know that."

Elric's mouth tightened. "It's still crime."

"That I've yet to be convicted for," Roy pointed out. "And as I'm not committing one right now, and I have an invitation…" He trailed off, but Elric didn't get the hint. "I see no reason for you to be hassling me."

"We're not here on official business, technically." Elric's younger brother spoke up, looking apologetic.

Roy scanned them up and down, noticing their black-tie attire for the first time. Official or not, the elder Elric was still packing under his formal wear, and Roy's eyebrow lifted in skepticism. The agent noticed and scowled, as though daring Roy to comment.

"I see we're playing dress up tonight," he drawled, casually glancing out into the crowd. He caught sight of two-toned blond hair, along with a swish of navy dress and a flash of a eyepatch. It was almost time.

Elric seethed before him. "I know I can't prove it now, but I will one of these days. And then you'll be behind bars, and I'll be the one who's laughing."

"Maybe so, but then who will go after men like him?" Roy nodded to King, who was paused in the doorway of the ballroom, talking to someone inside.

Elric glared at him, but had no reply. As he stomped off, his brother leaned in closer.

"I'm sorry Mustang, for him. But you know why."

Roy nodded, because he did know, and while he hated the thorn that was the Elric brothers, he could never quite muster up the strength to pluck it from his side.

"Be careful," Alphonse Elric said suddenly. "Men like him…" He glanced to the doors King had just disappeared behind and shuddered, "I'd much rather see King behind bars than you," he admitted before straightening up. He caught Roy's gaze, and his gold eyes hardened. It was difficult, sometimes, to see Edward in Alphonse, but there was no mistaking the resemblance now. "Don't misunderstand me, Mustang. I will do my job."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Roy said honestly. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

He was gone before the agent could reply, weaving his way between guests as he made his way to the door Riza had left from. If all had gone according to plan, King would be up in his office, waiting for Riza to join him, and then the job would begin.

Roy scowled. This was his least favorite part of the night's plan, but it couldn't be avoided. King's safe would accept nothing less than the man himself, so the man himself they would bring.

It didn't mean Roy had to like it.

"To your left, around the corner, then right." Riza's voice crackled through his com. Roy followed her instructions and stepped over a chain barrier to find her waiting for him in the next hallway over.

"Upstairs?" he asked.

She nodded. "And the Elrics?"

Roy shook his head. "Not on duty. They may suspect us, but they can't pursue. Just have to be a little more careful."

Riza's mouth flattened in an exasperated line. "_We're_ always careful, Roy. _You_, on the other hand…"

Her words flew over his head. "You called me Roy."

A faint blush touched her cheeks. Riza was always careful to call address him professionally while on jobs, but she'd slip up every now and again. Roy loved pointing them out to her when she did. "I'm sorry, sir," she said stiffly. "It won't happen again."

"I don't mind," Roy said softly. Was she drawing closer to him, or was he leaning in…?

Riza's eyes widened in alarm as the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway behind them. "Someone's coming," she hissed.

He shrugged. "Let them come."

"This hallway's off limits," she reminded him, head swiveling for a side door to duck into. Unfortunately, the only door was at the end of the corridor, far from their reach.

If they didn't act fast, they'd be caught, and this whole thing could be over before it began.

Roy acted on instinct, and suddenly his lips were on hers, and they were kissing, and Roy's thought process didn't extend much further than that.

She squeaked in surprise, and if Roy wasn't so busy running his tongue along her bottom lip, he'd've laughed out loud. Riza Hawkeye didn't _squeak_. But (apparently) she did when being kissed by one Roy Mustang.

Seconds that felt like hours later, she relaxed into his arms, and Roy felt a rush of heat race across his skin as she wound her arms around his neck. Her mouth pressed hard against his, because that was how she did things.

One of his hands was flush against her waist as the other moved to cup her face, thumb stroking across her cheek. She broke away, chest heaving and cheeks flushed, and Roy smirked at her before dipping down to kiss along her jaw.

Her hands fluttered as if to push him off, but they stilled as his lips met hers again. He'd been careful not to leave a mark, because she had a job to do, and damn if that didn't kill the mood.

Thankfully, they were interrupted before Roy's thoughts could wander any further down that path.

"Oi! This area's off limits!" A burly security guard glowered down at them, beady eyes narrowed in distaste. "Can't you read?"

Roy doubted the walking steroid in front of them could, but wisely chose not to comment. He made sure to stumble a little as he backed away, and slurred his words. "Sorry, buddy, just havin' a bit a fun." He leered at Riza, enjoying the way her face flushed and her eyes sparked.

"Yeah, well, save it for later," Steroid said, grumbling as he watched them clamber over the chain barrier and walk off down the hallway. His heavy footsteps started up again a moment later.

Roy threw an arm around Riza and leaned in close. "Still watching us?"

"No," she said, and her voice was tense.

"Don't get mad," he warned, leaning away to give her a little space. "We needed a distraction."

"So you decided to kiss me," she said flatly.

Roy shrugged. "It worked, didn't it?"

Her mouth tightened, and Roy softened. "I'm sorry I sprang it on you, but it was the first thing I thought of." And maybe that was telling her a little too much, but Roy couldn't find it in himself to care.

Riza read between the lines easily, and the look she gave him was a little more tender than he was expecting. But all she said was, "I have to go."

"I know. And I hate it."

"I know you do."

"Be careful."

She nodded to him as they drew level with the ballroom doors. Roy pulled his arm away to let her go, but she caught hold of him before he could.

"Riza, what—"

Her kiss was short and only on the cheek, but it burned like fire long after the click of her heels faded.

Roy wanted more than anything to race up the stairs after her and stop her from meeting King, but he knew he couldn't, just like he knew she could do what needed doing. They were partners, him and her, and Roy would have to trust in that as he always had.

In the meantime, he had a job to do.


	4. Opportunity

Day Four: Opportunity

* * *

"They asked for soldiers, darlin', not scrawny little girls. The hell are you here for, anyway?"

Riza grit her teeth, a muscle in her jaw twitching furiously, but she remained composed. She was used to this, after all. You couldn't be a woman in the military and _not_ be.

Roy, of course, was a man and was not subject to the daily vitriol Riza was. He snapped his head around, teeth bared in a snarl as his eyes landed on the perpetrator. "What did you say?"

"Wasn't talkin' to you," the man grunted, all ruddy face and squinty eyes. He clutched a flask in a fat hand. Riza wondered if it was the reason behind the flush in his cheeks.

Roy's mouth opened and closed and he sputtered a little, trying to find the right words to defend his fellow soldier. He found none.

Riza shook her head. "Not worth it. They can say what they want about me, I don't care."

"That's not the point!" Roy looked more affronted than he should have, and if they weren't in a war zone, Riza might have smiled at the look on his face.

"What is, then?" she asked him. "Whatever he wants to say, I've heard it before. I knew what I was getting myself into when I enlisted, after all, and if I can't handle a few snide remarks, then I really shouldn't be here."

Roy played with his gloves, running the cloth through his fingers. "I know," he said quietly. "But I hate that you have to go through that. It's hard enough being here without having to watch your back in a friendly camp."

Her shoulders slumped just a little because he was right, it wasn't fair, she shouldn't have had to worry about an attack from her own side. But she did, and every woman there (few as they may have been) had to as well.

"You had to endure that for years in the Academy, I'd bet." His voice was nearly inaudible over the crackle of the fire in front of them.

She nodded. "I did."

"How did you do it?"

She shrugged. "You grow a thick skin. You don't let it become the focus of your life."

"So, what, you just forget them and move on?"

Shaking her head adamantly, she answered, "No. I don't move on. I don't let them bother me so much that it affects my performance, but I let it bother me enough that it keeps me going. On the days that I think I might not be able to take another step, I remember all the people who are expecting me to fail, and I start running."

His gaze was faraway, and she found herself wanting to know what he was seeing in his mind's eye. "Why did you join?" he asked abruptly, and she blinked at the sudden change of topic. "Why the military, if you knew it was going to be like this?"

"There aren't a lot of opportunities for teenage girls with no next of kin," she answered bluntly. "The military was one of the few. And it suited me."

He started to protest, but Riza wouldn't let him. "There was a boy I knew, when I was growing up. He said he was going to join the military so he could change the world and help as many people as he could. I liked that dream. I thought maybe I could help."

Their eyes met for a long moment. "I think maybe that boy is glad you believed in him," he said. "Though he might not be too happy that you're stuck in the same ruined battlefield that he is."

"Maybe she can help him out of it. And maybe he can help her."

"Maybe," he said softly. He looked at his gloves, and the bags under his eyes seemed to darken.

There may not have been many opportunities back then, and there sure weren't a lot now. But Riza couldn't help but hope, as she sat next to a dying fire in the middle of a bloody desert wasteland, that there would be more than this in her future.


	5. Conspiracy

Day Five: Conspiracy

(Note: Some dialogue taken from the manga, some from the anime. Rated T for language.)

* * *

The universe, Roy decides, must be conspiring against him.

(Heh. Conspiring against the conspiracy. Fitting.)

"Elizabeth?" he asks, ignoring the concerned looks of the officers in the room. "Hey! Elizabeth!"

His only answer comes in gunshots, a staccato drumbeat that paints a clear picture of events and reminds him too much of a similar phone call. No. Not again. _Never_ again. He slams the receiver down and is gone before the other officers can blink. _No. No, this isn't supposed to happen. Hawkeye's their eye in the sky, she's not in the field, not on the ground. She's not supposed to have any fucking customers!_

Even now he thinks in their code, and if the situation weren't so completely and utterly fucked up, he would laugh. He _had_ laughed, when Riza had suggested the codenames. She was—is, his mind screams—funnier than most give her credit for.

Jacqueline. Kate. Elizabeth. His "girls," his team. They're in danger, they're at risk, and _it is entirely his fault_. Why in God's name had he agreed to stay in his office while they went out in the field? His only line to them is telephone, and that is a sorry excuse for a lifeline.

A good leader doesn't hide behind his men. He _leads_ them, even into danger. But how can he lead them across town, with only a mind and a voice?

He spots a car idling outside of Central Command. The universe, while conspiring, is not so cruel as to leave him without one. Roy feels no guilt in sliding behind the wheel and pulling away, and while that should bother him, it doesn't. He'd read somewhere that excess of loyalty can be a fault. Roy doesn't hold to the same philosophy.

Horns screech and people yell as he races by, but their complaints are the furthest things from his mind. His foot presses the accelerator into the floor, his hands yank at the wheel, and his mind tries fruitlessly to stop playing every gruesome variation of what those gunshots meant.

A bright flash of light finally breaks his focus, and he looks up to see a flare light the sky in front of him.

"Dammit!" he yells, striking the wheel with an open hand. This wasn't supposed to happen like this, everything was supposed to be under control, he can't lose them like he has lost before, he will _not_ let that happen…

His jaw aches from grinding his teeth together.

He almost misses the tower they're in, only screeching to a stop after he's passed the door. The car rumbles unhappily as he leaves it behind. Dimly he thinks that it would be easy to steal like that, and then where would they be, but of course he doesn't turn back to take the keys.

Gunshots bounce off the stone walls of the tower. It sounds like an entire battalion is doing battle at the top, but he knows that it can only be the echo. But that doesn't help his nerves.

He takes the steps two at a time, somehow managing to shove his gloves on without tripping. As he reaches the last landing, the gunshots are replaced with the infinitely more horrifying click of firing pins striking empty chambers.

"No more?" comes a high-pitched rasp. "Out of bullets?"

Roy forces himself to slow and climbs the last stretch of stairs silently. He can see the profiles of Riza to his right, Fuery to his left. A man larger than Roy has ever seen (with the possible exception of Armstrong) stands in front of them, back to the tower window. "Bon appetite," the man growls, reaching forward.

Roy flings his hand out and snaps.

A spark skips through the air, leading a trail of flame that engulfs the man entirely, throwing him out the tower in a fiery explosion. He crashes to the ground below, and there is silence. Roy's heart gallops against his ribs, both from relief and adrenaline.

He'd made it.

"Co-Colonel!" This is the first time Roy has ever heard Riza stutter, and he doesn't like it.

'What was that thing?" Fuery says shakily, lowering his gun and cautiously approaching the blown-out wall. He peers down at the wreckage. "First Lieutenant, are you hurt…?"

His question goes unanswered as Riza rounds on Roy, eyes blazing with fury. "Why the hell did you leave your post?!"

Roy winces. He really should have anticipated this, but he'd been so caught up in getting here that he hadn't considered the after.

"No matter what happened to us, you could still have kept your involvement a secret!" Riza yells, face shoved in his. "That was the whole idea, right? But you just come waltzing in here, plain as day! Are you a complete idiot?!"

"Yeah, fine, that's it; I'm an idiot. Happy?" Roy grumbles, rubbing his ear. He won't apologize for what he did, though, and he wouldn't have changed his actions for anything.

Roy sets Fuery to work, and the two climb down the stairs to join the others. Despite the close call they've just avoided, there is still work to be done here. Time (and the ever-conspiring universe) doesn't stop, even for narrow escapes. They'll just have to take their breaths when they can.

"First Lieutenant." He has to say something, but doesn't know what even as he hails her.

"Yes?"

The words spill from his mouth in a rush. "I'm glad you're alive." They sound silly, now that he's said them. But as much as he wants to see her reaction he keeps his head forward and his feet moving. There is something else in between the words, he thinks, something he's not quite sure he should admit.

"I'm sorry I worried you," she answers, and maybe there is something in between her words, something that mirrors Roy's own subtext.

When Roy leaves the tower to find the car exactly where he left it, engine purring and ready for pursuit, he thinks that the universe he's been so quick to accuse of conspiring is a little kinder than he gave it credit for.


	6. Memories

Day Six: Memories

(Rated T for language)

* * *

They ask him if he's fine, and he tells them yes, but Roy has always been a fantastic liar. The only person who knows him well enough to call bullshit is Riza, and she hasn't said anything yet. And he can't check her expression because, well…if he could, then he wouldn't be lying in the first place.

There's a shuffling to his left, like the sound of sheets sliding against skin. Riza is tossing in her sleep again. Guilt turns his stomach and burns like acid in his chest. He knows she's okay, has been told that so many times it's starting to wear a rut through his inner ear, but sometimes it's hard to believe them because he can't check for himself. The last time he'd seen her, her neck had been sewn together by a few slapdash tissue sutures. Reconciling that image with the imagined one of her healed is not easy.

Her breathing shifts as it evens out, and he finds himself relaxing as she does. At least there is this, that he can still hear her lying in the bed next to his. She is alive, and he can hear that in every fill of her lungs, with every shift of her body. It's a small consolation for being able to see her alive and well, but it's something for him to cling to.

Tentatively, he opens his eyes and moves them from side to side, straining and squinting and waving a hand in front of his face. He doesn't do this during the day, when he's surrounded by doctors and nurses and his team, but here in the darkest hours of the morning, he is not the only one robbed of their sight. No one can watch him struggle and fight and try fruitlessly to see through clouded irises.

Nothing. Not even a shadow, or a shade, of a hint that anything else exists in this new, pitch black world.

Riza shifts again, and he lets his hand fall down to his lap. His eyes flutter close, because what use is it to have them open when they don't work?

What use is he, if they don't work?

A little voice in the back of his head that sounds eerily like Riza scolds him. _You are _not_ useless_, she tells him, _not even a little bit, because eyes don't make a person. You're still a mind and a voice and a pair of hands, and what use is there in having those if you're not going to use them?_

She has a point, he knows. And he believes her, this Riza inside his head, but it's hard to accept when it's the middle of the night and it's just him. It doesn't help that Riza herself is asleep just five feet away, and he can't even turn his head to look at her.

He thinks of her, the last time he'd seen her, and he sees the stain of red on her shirt collar. This is not the last image he wants of her, but he doesn't have a choice. Maybe that's what has him terrified and anxious—that he will never see her again.

She'll stay by his side, he knows, because she promised to always stay by his side. He will still hear her crisp voice by his ear, still feel her calloused hands as she hands him a cup of coffee. But he won't see her face when she raises a skeptical eyebrow, or the dangerous glint in her eye when the others (try to) poke fun at her. And though he's seen her a thousand times, it doesn't feel like enough. He doesn't want to rely on memories, because all memories fade, eventually.

What if he wakes up one day and he can't quite remember the exact curve of her jaw? Or the way her bangs sweep across her forehead? Or the flecks of amber in her eyes? Panic has him clutching at his bed sheets, desperate for something solid to anchor him. He has faced down so many enemies, fought so many battles, and yet this is the thing that brings him to his knees.

Pathetic.

As he tries desperately to reign in control, another thought hits him: it's not just that he's worried about losing his memories of her, it's that he only has so many. _They're not enough_, he thinks. She has so many shades of sarcastic looks, and he's pretty sure he's only discovered about half of them. And now he'll never know what the other half look like.

His chest aches fiercely at the thought. Memories aren't enough, will _never_ be enough to capture her, to capture any of those he cares about.

"Sir?" Her voice is thick with sleep, and he stiffens at being caught in the middle of what he thinks might be his first panic attack.

"Go back to sleep, Lieutenant," he says, but it can hardly be counted as an order when his voice is wavering so much.

"What's wrong, sir?" she asks gently, and dammit, now she's sitting up and turning to face him (he thinks).

"Nothing," he says, but with all the conviction of a frightened child.

"You're lying," she says, and there it is, calling him out on the bullshit.

"I know."

"Are you going to tell me what's been bothering you?"

He snorts, waving a hand in front of his face. "You mean it isn't obvious?"

"There's more to it than that, isn't there?"

He doesn't like to admit weakness, but she is his exception. "It bothers me, that I won't see anyone again. I don't like relying on my memories of them, because they're not enough."

She is quiet for a few minutes, which drives Roy to the edge of distraction. He can't see her, doesn't know how she's looking at him, and that scares him too. "Make new ones," she says finally.

"What?"

"You don't want to rely on memories? Alright then, don't. Make new ones. They don't have to be visual, you know. Remember someone's voice, their scent, the feel of their hands. Remember the conversation, the laughter. There's more to a person than how they look, sir, and I think you should focus on that."

The answer is so stunningly simple that it renders him speechless. It sounds so obvious when she says it, but he doubts he could have reached that point on his own. She always did have a way of opening his eyes, and even though she can't do that now, she's still managed to clear his panic-fogged mind and drag him back down to earth.

"Does that help?" she asks, sounding a little anxious. He can only imagine what he looks like now.

"Yes," he answers. "More than you know, I think."

A new resolve fills him up, and the next morning, he calls for boxes and boxes of files. If he can't do things visually anymore, he's going to have to adapt. As Breda and Falman read out agriculture reports, Roy listens the shape of Breda's words and the inflection of Falman's sentences. When Fuery hands him a glass of water, Roy feels the dry skin of his fingers. Havoc wheels in at one point, bringing with him the smell of cigarette smoke and cologne.

With Riza, though, he memorizes it all: the tone of her voice, the soft roughness of her skin, the faint smell of lavender. He begins to create an imprint of her in his mind that will not be washed away by time. It isn't the same as before, but he wasn't expecting it to be.

But days later, when Marcoh lifts his hands from Roy's eyes, and they flutter open with fully restored sight, he finds that nothing really compares to _seeing_ Riza.


	7. Warmth

Day Seven: Warmth

(Rated T for language)

* * *

It was just his luck, Roy thinks, that the Flame Alchemist would end up stationed in a goddamned desert. As if it wasn't warm enough already.

Roy sits as far away from the fire as he can, scowling fiercely into the blue-tinged center. When was it that he'd started to dislike it so? He remembers days spent in the alchemy lab, staring at the crackling flames with fascination, wondering if one day, he might crack the code to its existence. Little did he know that his teacher had been working on those very secrets, or that one day he would decipher them off the younger Hawkeye's back.

Little did he know that the power he'd sought to help people would be used for killing them.

He holds his gloves loosely in his hands, and as much as he wants to crumple them up in his fist, he knows better than that (the first time he'd done it, he'd accidentally created a spark and set his shirtsleeve on fire). But he still needs some kind of release, so he throws them down onto the sand.

"You really should treat those better." A dark shape comes and sits down next to him. He doesn't need to turn his head to know that it's Riza.

"I know," he sighs. It comes out more like a growl.

To her credit, she doesn't inquire about his gloves any further. "Why are you sitting so far away from the fire? Aren't you cold?"

He shakes his head. "If only." Her head tilts to the side in a birdlike gesture, and he answers her silent question. "It's too hot here," he complains. "It's too hot and too dry and all I do day in and day out is set things on fire. It's too goddamn hot."

She regards him curiously. "I hadn't thought about that. It's bad enough for the rest of us, yes, but you're the Flame Alchemist. Fire is your trade."

"I used to love it," he says miserably. "Thought it was the best thing that could happen to man. But how can it be, when all I use it for is…" He can't finish the sentence.

"Fire's dangerous," Riza says. "And unpredictable. But we light up our campfires anyway, right?" She gestures to the clusters of flickering light that surround them.

Roy nods his grudging agreement. "I know. Two sides to every coin and all that. I'm just sick and tired of having to peel myself out of my uniform every night 'cause I've sweat through the entire thing. I'm sick of pouring sand out of my boots, I'm sick of picking sheets of my skin off from sunburn, and I'm so goddamn sick of lighting everything on fire."

Riza lets him stew for a few seconds. "You done?"

Roy cracks a wry smile and shakes his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm done. Sorry about that."

She gives a half-shrug. "We all need to rant every now and again."

"Not you."

"Not me."

"Liar."

"I can take care of myself."

"No one's saying you can't." But she doesn't reply for the longest time, and Roy starts to wonder if he's offended her.

When she speaks again, Roy can barely hear it over the sounds of their camp. "It's too cold."

"You can move closer to the fire."

She shakes her head. "No. No, I think I'll stay here."

And she does.


End file.
